


The Third Heaven

by orphan_account



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-05-16
Updated: 2009-05-16
Packaged: 2017-10-11 18:34:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 798
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/115630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In Paradise, all is forgiven.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Third Heaven

  
"When did this start?" Dean asks, settling himself against Castiel's back. His chin is resting on Castiel's shoulder, and his breath ruffles the angel's hair. They've been watching the sun set for days, now. Castiel knows that he has other duties, important ones, messages to be delivered and battles to be fought, but for now they've been granted a reprieve. For Castiel, a moment of peace and rest. For Dean, an eternity.

"This?" Castiel says, even though he knows exactly what Dean means. _Us._ This strange romance of theirs, half-spiritual and half-carnal. The sunsets and the white walls. Heaven. "Does it matter?"

He feels Dean smile against his shoulder. Until lately, Castiel's own heaven had been an ephemeral thing, all light and glory, with no physicality to separate him from the Presence, but now- now he cannot conceive of heaven without _this_ : comfort, and the absence of aches and pains, and soft touches and kisses that make up for a lifetime of shocks and pain and meaningless carnality. Perhaps if Dean had known a mother's soothing touch or had allowed himself more than simple fornication he wouldn't have needed his body. Castiel doesn't know.

He doesn't care. Dean's paid his dues a thousand times over, and he deserves his rest. All the guilt, and anger, and confusion that had plagued his mortal life has been lifted from his shoulders. Castiel is glad to take on the burden, and he goes out of his way to help the helpless, to save a few innocents from the creatures that live in the dark. Before this- before _Dean_ \- he wouldn't have bothered, but some of Dean's mortality- some of Dean's _guilt_ , and some of Dean's _love_ have insinuated themselves into Castiel's being, so that he carries on Dean's work whenever he can, and however he can.

"Cas?" Dean nudges him, prompting. "You listening to Angel Radio, there?"

Castiel smiles, and distracts Dean with a lingering kiss. He could tell Dean how he died, the whole truth of it, and it wouldn't weigh heavily on either of them (there is a plan, and they've both played their parts), but he doesn't want Dean to dwell on what could-have-been or what should-have-been. That's all behind them now. Dean's played his part. His battle is over.

 _"When did this start?"_

It begins in a church in Ilchester, Maryland, in the bloody aftermath of a pitched battle. The demons have been vanquished and the angels are back in heaven, but Dean- Dean is left standing, covered in the blood of the innocents who served as vessels on both sides. _Melakh Adonai_ , the messengers of the Lord; these humans have delivered the message and died in the telling.

Dean drops his shotgun and sags heavily against a pew. There's blood crusted under his fingernails and splattered across his shirt, his arms, his neck, and he looks completely exhausted. His gaze is fixed on the corpse of a little girl, no more than six years old, who was spread-eagled against the altar by the demon who possessed her. Castiel wants to clean her skin, fold her ribs back into her little body, smooth her hair from her temples, but that's not his calling.

"You know," Dean says, still looking at the girl, "I don't get why we're fighting this war. Humans are just- it's each man for himself, Cas, and I feel like I've gotta save the whole damn world."

Castiel comes to a decision.

"You don't," Castiel says, and then he gathers the hunter into his arms. Dean's mouth is soft and wet against Castiel's lips; his blood races under his skin and his breath is a warm blush against Castiel's cheeks. Dean's tongue is rough when he opens his mouth; he tastes salty, blood pouring from his cracked teeth, and there is a trace of bitterness left by the adrenaline rush. Castiel is only a little surprised when Dean surges forward, his fingers tangling carelessly in Castiel's hair, his heart fluttering under Castiel's palm.

When they pull apart, Dean's eyes are still closed and his expression is beatific. The sunshine gilds his hair and the fine panes of his face could have been carved from marble, one of the blessed saints standing in their alcoves.

"I'm sorry, Dean," Castiel says, pressing his fingers to Dean's forehead. Dean's eyes flicker open, and he has only a fleeting moment to look betrayed before his heart stops under Castiel's palm. Castiel catches his body as it falls, and sets it gently on the stone floor of the church. Dean's face is peaceful; his eyes stare up past the vault of the ceiling. He is beyond all the pain and strife and uncertainty of life, he is beyond even the flight of birds, now.

Castiel goes to find him.

 

 

 **_  
_ **

 


End file.
